


Frenemy Mine (or 5+1 Positive Life Experiences)

by Chiyume, NurseDarry, TheRothwoman



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: 5+1 Things, Babysitting, Boxing, Captain America Reverse Big Bang, Fluff, Humor, Multi, Sam Wilson Is a Good Bro, Stan Lee Cameo, Steve still can't dance, The Talk, Too many plastic forks, penis-shaped waffles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-26
Updated: 2017-05-26
Packaged: 2018-11-05 02:52:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11004456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chiyume/pseuds/Chiyume, https://archiveofourown.org/users/NurseDarry/pseuds/NurseDarry, https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheRothwoman/pseuds/TheRothwoman
Summary: In the summer, just before Steve’s big birthday, Bucky - while lending a hand - allowshimselfa few gifts.TFA, TWS, CW, AA, and AoU compliant.





	Frenemy Mine (or 5+1 Positive Life Experiences)

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [[Art] Frenemy Mine](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11004372) by [TheRothwoman](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheRothwoman/pseuds/TheRothwoman). 



> The authors would firstly like to thank the patient and organise-tastic RBB Mods, and our beta extraordinaire [DelphiPSmith](http://archiveofourown.org/users/DelphiPsmith/pseuds/DelphiPsmith), who’s once again had to work outside her fandom zone. Huge thanks also to [Cleo4u2](http://archiveofourown.org/users/cleo4u2/pseuds/cleo4u2) and [Opposablethumbs](http://archiveofourown.org/users/opposablethumbs/pseuds/opposablethumbs) for the additional help. Loads of hugs go to our army of cheerleaders and proofers. And of course, this story wouldn’t exist without our wonderful [artist and inspiration](http://nursedarry.tumblr.com/post/167444691954/therothwoman-thanks-no-seb-thank-you). Comedy waffles for all of you!  
>   
> Quotes: Ch 1 Kevin Costner; Ch 5+1 Wilson Mizner

  **Is this heaven? No, it’s Iowa.**

Sam had his head halfway through the back of one of the cupboards in the common kitchen in search of coffee beans when he heard the automated doors to the elevators behind him slide open.

“FRIDAY?” he asked loudly.

“It appears Sergeant Barnes has returned home from Iowa, sir,” FRIDAY informed him.  

Sam huffed, picking up a pack of… well,  _ something  _ from the shelf he was currently investigating. It looked like it hailed from some country he’d never heard of (where, no doubt, some random evil despot was currently setting up shop) and he’d just as well learn to like the local coffee before he got called on to go there and help save the world again.

The sound of a bag being dropped onto the floor came from somewhere near the doorway, and then Bucky’s voice floated towards him from across the room.

“You stuck?” he asked, sounding anything but concerned.

“No,” Sam replied dryly.

“Good, cause I ain’t helping you get back out.”

Sam snorted and slowly, so as to not hit his head on the shelves above, backed out of the pantry, squinting down at the label of the packet in his hand. “So how was Iowa?” he asked absentmindedly. “Clint make you guys build him a picket fence or something while you were there?”

“It was good. And no.” 

A series of soft flopping, squeaking noises came from the other side of the kitchen island that separated the cooking area from the rest of the room. After a few beats, Sam realized that what he was hearing was the sound of Bucky  _ walking _ , and he looked up, frowning in confusion.

The sight that met him was nothing short of…well, amazing, really. First, there were the 3D-glasses perched on Bucky’s nose. It wasn’t even a modern pair, either, just those white-framed, old-timey, blue-and-red lenses people used to wear to the movies back when Sam was still a little kid. The second thing Sam noticed was the pink crop top covering the upper part of Bucky’s body. It was loosely fitted with both sleeves and midsection torn off and frayed, and the capital word ‘FRESH’ beaded across the chest in sparkly green sequins. Sam could also see the edge of what appeared to be a pair of floral-printed surfer shorts peeking over the edge of the tabletop, glaring at Sam in a mix of bright neon colors. 

And then, as the metaphorical cherry on top, resting lightly atop Bucky’s dark head, was a braided flower crown made of white daisies.

In other words: he looked absolutely ridiculous. 

“Wow,” Sam said, eyes wide as Bucky took a seat on one of the stools on the other side of the kitchen island, sprawling negligently and carefree, as if he did this every day, just dress up like, like…  _ this  _ and went about his day. Sam could feel his jaw unhinging, ready to gape. How, just…  _ Why? _

“What?” Bucky huffed, with an annoyed glance at Sam from behind the red-and-blue squares covering his eyes. Slowly, Sam set the pack of probably-not-coffee down on the counter, and then leaned over the top of the island to see Bucky’s feet. They were adorned by a pair of flip-flops. One bright orange, one in neon green. Because, of course.

“Dude…” he said slowly.

_ “What?” _ Bucky demanded again, obviously already perfectly aware of what Sam was referring to.

“What in the seven names of  _ hell  _ are you wearing? Cause I’ve been to Iowa, and I’m pretty sure  _ that’s  _ not —” Did he really need to go on?

Bucky’s posture lost some of its usual super-soldier bad-assery as he dragged in a deep breath and let it out again in a sigh. “It’s a long story…” 

“I don’t doubt it.” Sam threw a glance at the elevator. “Steve and Nat still up by the quinjet?”

“No.  We just landed, and they headed over to Hell’s Kitchen.”

“Hell’s Kitchen? Why?” Sam asked in confusion.

Bucky waved his hand, frowning. “Something about appearing at a charity event for one of Steve’s friends. And bagels. I think one of them said bagels. I don’t know, I wasn’t really paying attention.”

“Huh…” 

Sam snorted. Bucky didn’t elaborate any further and Sam gave him a curious little glance, taking in the visual of this once cruel assassin, now dressed in something that looked plucked straight out of the worst 80’s summer movie parody ever. 

“So,” he said slowly, “this long story…?”

Bucky hung his head momentarily before straightening up again.

“Okay, so my therapist suggested I spend more time doing stuff with you guys,” he confessed grumpily. “Like, stuff that isn’t necessarily  _ avenging, _ or involves pummeling bad guys through concrete.” He rubbed at his neck, tilting his face upward and closing his eyes as he recalled the doctor’s words. “He said that becoming a more solid part of this team would help me ‘foster positive life experiences, and develop healthy coping mechanisms’.” 

Sam nodded in understanding. Memory loss or no, it was apparent that Bucky was still enhanced. Now that his mind was his own again, any conversation Bucky partook in instantly got etched hyper-accurately into it – no exceptions. Including that time Sam got drunk and told him about when he and his sisters went streaking around his father’s church when he was eleven.

He looked on as Bucky slumped down to fold his elbows on the kitchen island, the metal fingers drumming a quick staccato on the table surface before flattening there, so he could drop his head down on top of them with a muted thud.

“Does this have anything to do with that time you decided to drown yourself at Starbucks?”

“Maybe,” Bucky replied. 

“You know,” Sam observed calmly, “I’m still not sure if spending an entire weekend over-caffeinating is all that positive as life experiences go.”

“Maybe you’re right,” Bucky grumbled into the fold of his elbow, then turning his head to the side in order to get the words out clearly, “but I figured it was worth a shot. I mean, I can’t get drunk, so why would I be able to get hopped up on coffee? And there’s so many kinds of coffee now. Frappu-whatever, espresso, Mari-achi? The names alone make me wanna buy them all.” 

Sam might have to reassess the whole hyper-accurate memory thing.

“Whatever man, but maybe not all at once like last time,” Sam warned him. “I swear, I’ve never seen Steve so tired in my life.  Boy barely made it through the Doom mission with his eyes open.”

“Yeah,” Bucky admitted, looking sheepish. “I… did kinda make him stay awake for four days.”

“Nope.” Sam held up a warning hand. “I don’t need to know anything about your sex life, thank you very much.”

“Hey, it wasn’t  _ just _ sex,” Bucky barreled on regardless of Sam’s discomfort. “I made him stay up and watch all of  _ Band of Brothers _ and every episode of  _ M*A*S*H _ . Oh, and  _ Battlestar Galactica _ .”

“New one, or classic?” Sam asked sharply.

“Classic, of course.” Bucky looked at Sam as if he was completely nuts. “C’mon.”

“So was  _ this _ …” Sam indicated Bucky’s appearance, “…any more positive?”

“Surprisingly,” Bucky said, “yeah. Nat asked me to stay over at Barton’s with his wife and kids while Barton was away on a mission. She figured I’d be better protection than any of you guys – no offence,” he added when Sam raised a quizzical eyebrow at him. “And, I suspect, because she thought I’d like to spend time with a family. Seeing as I’ve—” He cut himself off with a shrug. “Since I’ve just begun to remember my own and all.”

Sam nodded slowly. “That sounds great,” he said. “Just the kind of thing you ought to be doing more of.”

“Yeah, Steve said that too,” Bucky agreed fondly, a smile twitching at the corner of his mouth.

“And the outfit?” Sam prompted.

“Oh, this.” Bucky looked down at his clothes, pinching the front of his sequin-covered shirt before looking up with an exaggerated eye roll that Sam could see even through the tinted shades. “So Maddy’s brother’s girlfriend knows this guy who works with Theo, who’s a friend of Cooper’s, right? And his younger sister gets all the cool clothes and toys ‘cause their mom and dad are super-rich and they go to Disney World like almost every year—” 

Sam narrowed his eyes. 

“Dude, that’s fucked up,” he commented slowly.  

Bucky threw his arm out pointedly.

“I  _ know,  _ right?” he agreed heatedly, sighing deeply and shaking his head. “ _ So _ not fair.”

“No, I mean…” Sam absently waved a hand in front of Bucky’s blue-and-red-film-covered eyes, wondering what was going on in there. ”Hello…? How about you start at the beginning? This time  _ without  _ the tween narration.”

Bucky smirked. Obviously his previous recital had been a word-by-word repetition based on the Barton children’s report. He took his shades off and fidgeted with them, folding and unfolding the frames slowly while turning them over in his hands.

“Honestly?” he asked. “It was fun.” He glanced up, as if expecting Sam to make fun of him, but when Sam remained quiet he continued, with a grand gesture at his attire. “Not  _ just  _ reinventing my wardrobe. But… all of it. Helping Laura take care of the baby… Looking after the other two… For a while, it almost felt as if I was back home again. You know, before everything. With my own siblings…” He let out a snorted laugh, shaking his head. “You know, Lila reminds me so much of my youngest sister, it’s almost scary.”

“Really?” 

Bucky nodded, still without looking up.

“Yeah.  I swear, there were times they even  _ walked  _ the same. Must be a girl thing, right?”

“Probably,” Sam agreed.

“It felt nice,” Bucky continued, as if he hadn’t even heard. “Having a family around. Cooper and I looked through a big book about tanks and boats, and Lila taught me this game called Minecraft, and showed me how to make flower crowns.” He pointed to the circlet of daisies resting on his head. “She tried braiding them into my hair, but apparently it was too  _ rambunctious. _ ” 

“That’s a big word for a nine-year-old,” Sam said with an impressed chuckle.

“Oh, she’s an encyclopedia of big words,” Bucky agreed. “She used expressions I haven’t heard since before I shipped out back in the 40s. Although,” he added, “I’m pretty sure Barton taught her those just because he knew I was coming.”

Sam laughed, because yeah, he could totally imagine Clint doing something like that.

“So what else did you do?” he asked, genuinely curious. 

“We went grocery shopping. I read the kids stories. Some from books, some that I made up myself. Told them—” He cut himself off, laughing. “I told them about the first time Steve jumped out of a plane without a 'chute in front of the entire Howlie-squad. Apparently I was the only one who realized he didn’t need it. Man, I thought Dum-Dum was gonna  _ faint _ .”

“That’s the most common reaction, I’m told.”

“I also worked on the sunroom out back. You know, the one Clint’s been talking about ever since May? Laura made me iced tea – the _proper_ kind, with fresh mint and everything – and the kids and I spent the afternoon out back doing watercolor paintings. Man, I’d forgotten how long it’s been since I last painted…Steve was always trying to teach me. Then later, Laura let me drive the tractor, and it was _so great._ I was four years old again. I… I can remember wanting to do that so bad when I was a kid.” He broke off, quiet, clearly looking inward. “Wish my ma could’ve seen me.”

Sam smiled gently. “Maybe she did.”

A short but comforting silence followed, which was broken when Bucky suddenly perked up with a gloating, “Yeah, that tractor was something.  _ And _ I had  _ all _ the legroom because there wasn’t some dumb asshole sitting in front of me the whole time.”

Sam laughed. “Yeah, that must’ve been great. Can’t imagine what driving a tractor in flip-flops must’ve been like, though,” he added with a shake of his head, and Bucky snorted at him.

“I wasn’t wearing flip-flops at the time,  _ dumbass _ ,” Bucky pointed out with a hint of feigned superiority, which was immediately ruined when Sam more or less folded over the kitchen island in peals of laughter.  “This glamorous outfit was given to me by Lila just before I left. We were playing dress-up. Apparently, I’m a mermaid-surfer-prince. Very rare. I didn’t even realize Clint was home until he opened the front door, took one look at me, and then closed it again.” Bucky sighed, shaking his head. “I could hear him laughing even through the door”

“You blame him?” Sam asked with a smirk.

“Nope. Had it been me, I don’t even think I would have bothered closing the door first.” He held up the 3-D glasses. “He told me I could keep these, along with the second pair I’ve got in the bag. He got them when he took Laura to a revival screening of  _ Creature from the Black Lagoon _ , back when they were still dating. Told me I should take them so that Steve and I can watch the film together.”

“Would you?”

“Listen, man, back in my day we didn’t even  _ have _ color film. These things - ” he waved the glasses around “- they were proper science fiction back then. And the whole 3D-thing? Steve and I missed all that.” He carefully slid the glasses back onto his nose to peer through the tinted film around the room. “I’ve gotta admit, I’m curious to see how these things are supposed to work.”

“Just make sure you don’t sit too close,” Sam warned. “I mean, I know the front row’s got a lot of leg-room – and I know you’re fond of that – but you’ll end up with a kink in your neck before you’re even past the title screen.”

“As long as I don’t have to sit in the row behind you,” Bucky replied, smiling sweetly

Sam ducked his head with an embarrassed smile.

“Yeah, look, I… I know I probably should have said this sooner, but I'm sorry for being such an asshole about the whole… car thing. Back in Germany.”

He looked up in time to see that Bucky’s face had dropped a little. Bucky cleared his throat while bringing his metal hand up to rub awkwardly at his neck.

“Yeah… uh… me too.” Sam looked at him puzzled, then he raised his eyebrows as Bucky continued, “I mean with the car. You know, before…”

“Hey,” Sam said. “All that? Anything  _ before? _ Totally wasn't your fault.”

“You being an asshole wasn't your fault either,” Bucky pointed out with a teasing smirk. “Mostly. Steve's choice of getaway car, however; that was just stupid.” 

“Fine,” Sam suggested, smiling. “Then I say we blame Steve.”

“I… don't think we can blame Steve for what I did to your car,” Bucky pointed out carefully. 

“Of course we can,” Sam said. “After all, I wouldn't have even been there in the first place, hadn’t it been for him.”

Bucky raised his eyebrows over the edge of the ridiculous glasses adorning his face. “Are you sure blaming Steve counts as a ‘healthy coping mechanism’?” 

Sam couldn’t help it, he laughed. Bucky had even used air quotes. 

“Works for me,” he said. “Work for you?”

“Works for me,” Bucky agreed. The corner of his lips quirked up into a smile as Sam gave an enthusiastic thumbs up in response. 

“Great!” Sam declared. “Guess that means you can tell that shrink of yours you’ve been making progress today.” He glanced down at the pack of not-coffee still sitting on the counter, and then back at Bucky. “How ’bout we head down to the coffee shop and celebrate? Maybe have a  _ macchiato _ or something?” He over-enunciated the word just to be a little shit.

“Sure,” Bucky said, elegantly sliding off his stool.

Sam watched him go, squeak-squawking his way across the floor towards the elevator in his rubber-soled sandals. 

“You’re going out dressed like that?” he asked incredulously.

“Hey,” Bucky scoffed, glancing at him over his shoulder. “I’m a mermaid-surfer-prince. I get to drink my coffee wearing whatever I want.”

Sam pondered this information for a moment. Then he nodded.

“Seems fair,” he decided as Bucky grinned, pressing the call button to the elevator.

 

**Float like a** **SIG-Sauer P226,** **sting like a** **MGL Mk 1L.**

“So, let me tell you what I need, comrade,” Tony said, turning to walk down the stairs towards the landing pad at the top of the tower. “And before you say it again: yeah, you’re sorry, and yeah, you love the new arm. And  _ yes, _ we  _ will _ go through the whole Burton-Taylor reconciliation drama sometime when I’m not needed to ensure Bruce and Veronica Mark II aren’t French kissing somewhere outside Kathmandu.”

“I…don’t know what any of that means,” Bucky slowly admitted.

Tony scoffed, turning mid-step to poke at the center of the star that, on Bucky’s insistence, still adorned his left arm. 

“What it means, Red Menace, is that I promised young Peter Parker that I would go a few rounds with him in the ring today. Only, I can’t make it, because our mean, green, fighting machine is currently in a purple haze after being dosed up by one of Ross’s black ops goons in Nepal. I need to get him out of there before he does any permanent damage to an area of extreme natural beauty.  Which you might not actually appreciate, not being a fan of mountains and such.” 

He took the two final steps of the stairs in a single, graceful leap, and Bucky wondered whether Stark was actually sorry about not being able to keep his promise to Parker, or relieved.

“Now,” Tony continued, walking across the room, “normally, I’d ask Widow to help, as I’ve discovered she’s pretty good for a clinch in the ring - not a euphemism - but I need her with me for duties which, frankly, are beyond your pay grade. And mine too. Funnily enough, she’s the only one who can talk Banner down.” He stopped in front of the big panoramic windows covering the entire side of the tower’s common floor and turned back towards Bucky, who had followed in silence. “Which brings me to you.” He nodded towards Bucky’s metal arm. “How’s it working so far?”

Bucky rolled his shoulder, and the limb whirred a little from the movement. 

“Well enough,” he decided. “Still new, but I’m getting used to it.”

“Great,” Tony declared. “Then this will be a perfect opportunity for you to try it out.”

Bucky looked at him, and when Tony just looked back, the pieces finally slotted into place.

“You want me to spar with the spider-kid,” he concluded.

“Bingo,” Tony said. “So, provided Widow and I don’t kill each other, we’ll all be back tonight.  But by that time,” he pointed a warning finger at Bucky’s face, “Peter’ll either be doing his homework, or out on his paper round. Capisce?” 

Bucky nodded. Those were easy enough instructions to follow. 

“Where is Parker now?” he asked, upon which Tony scoffed, looking affronted that he’d even asked.

“Do I look like a babysitter? Probably stroking off in the workshop over all the tech.  He’s as quaintly underprivileged as you and Capsicle were. I don’t really care where he is as long as he’s not touching my stuff. FRIDAY!” he called, still looking at Bucky. “Where’s the other super-spider?”

“He’s downstairs, boss, sitting in your R8.”

“Of course he is,” Tony sighed. “FRIDAY, please pass along the threat of terminal acne or something equally horrific to our long-fingered guest and tell him to get his adolescent ass out of my car and up to the gym.”

“I’m on it, boss.”

“As for you,” Tony continued, returning his attention to Bucky, “don’t break the kid. He’s still learning. I’m not saying go easy on him, just…” He waved his hand around in a haphazard little pattern which could have meant just about anything. “Don’t scare him off, all right?”

“I can’t make any promises,” Bucky said flatly, but Tony had already turned away to step through the automated doors leading out onto the landing pad. 

“I trust your good judgement, Sarge,” Tony called out over his shoulder, the different parts of his Iron Man suit latching onto his body atop of his clothes as he headed towards the edge of the walkway. “Thanks for the help!”  Tony added, a fraction of a second before the mask slammed into place over his mouth, 

The thrusters underneath the soles of the Iron Man suit lit up and, with a salute that would have made Colonel Philips proud, Tony dove off the landing pad and disappeared towards the horizon. Bucky watched him go, standing just outside the glass doors with a weird, itchy feeling in the back of his throat.

“Sergeant Barnes,” FRIDAY announced from somewhere above his head. “Mr. Parker is headed for the gym now. Should I tell him you’re on your way?”

“Yeah,” Bucky replied, staring after the disappearing gleam of Tony’s thrusters before straightening up with a slight cough to clear his throat. “Tell him I’ll be right there… Wait, tell him  _ someone _ will be right there.”

“Probably a good idea, Sergeant. I didn’t want to be the one to suggest it.”

Bucky had no response to FRIDAY’s comment, but they were clearly of the same mind. Server. CPU. Whatever. Knowing he was the one coming to help Peter with his training might result in Bucky entering the gym and finding it empty, or finding himself hopelessly tangled in sticky goo 0.1 seconds after the doors opened. And he didn’t need that shit in his hair.

Again.

^^^^^^^^^^

Sam was finishing up his final sprint on the treadmill when the doors to the Avengers’ gym slid open and Bucky walked in. 

This, of course, was not a surprise in any way, seeing as both Bucky and Steve had a tendency to vent their frustration by working up a sweat. Which, to ordinary mortals, verged on the lines of the ridiculous. What made this particular event extraordinary was the fact that behind Barnes’ burly figure trailed the slender form of one Peter Parker. 

Sam actually staggered at the sight, which nearly sent him skidding off the treadmill altogether. He managed to right himself at the last second, but continued to stare with fascinated indiscretion at how Bucky led the teenager towards the boxing ring located in the far corner of the gym. Bucky was holding a pair of tattered boxing gloves in his left hand, the deep brown leather a glaring contrast to the gleaming metal of his fingers.

“Here,” he said, “you can use these.” 

He gave the gloves a little rustle, and Peter reached out and took them, turning them over in his hands.

“No offence, Mr. Barnes,” he said carefully, “but aren’t these a little…I don’t know… _ old? _ ”

Bucky snorted, and Sam could see a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth when he looked at the leather in Peter’s grip. 

“They’re Steve’s old gloves,” he explained simply. “I remember getting them for him for his seventeenth birthday.”

“Captain Rogers?” Peter asked, confused. He held his own hand up next to one of the gloves, and then shifted his gaze towards Bucky’s fist. “He was still small back then, right?”

“Like a toothpick,” Sam supplied, sauntering up to them. “Honestly, from the pictures I’ve seen, I’d say it’s a wonder the gloves even stayed on.” 

Bucky laughed and Sam got a fleeting mental image of a scrawny, skinny Steve dropping his boxing gloves whenever he lowered his arms, Bucky laughing at him every single time it happened. He looked at the current Bucky and nodded towards the gloves, which Peter still hadn't made any move to put on.

“How’d you get a hold of those, anyway?” he asked curiously. “You steal ‘em from the Smithsonian, or what?”

“I’m an assassin, not a thief,” Bucky quipped, not without amusement. “Apparently Stark’s father made an effort to gather up all he could of Steve’s old belongings after the plane crash. Which was a good idea, since there were letters and things in Steve’s sketchbooks that—” He cut himself off with a hasty glance at Peter. “Either way, Howard stashed them, and Tony gave them back to Steve once he was defrosted.” 

Sam looked down at the floor. Way too many emotions were stored away behind the nonchalant way Bucky spoke, emotions he was sure Bucky wouldn’t want to get called out on. Normally, Sam might have done it anyway, as therapy, but Parker was there now and that changed things. Instead, simply he gave the kid a light shove in the side with his elbow.

“What are you waitin’ for, kiddo?” he asked. “Put ‘em on.”

“I—I…” Peter looked down at the gloves and then back up at Bucky. “Mr. Barnes, I— This is… I mean, these are  _ Captain America’s  _ gloves, I can’t—”

“Trust me, pipsqueak,” Bucky said, “Captain America’s gloves don’t last two training sessions. Those are just the gloves of a runt of a kid who wanted me to teach him how to box back in the day. Much like you,” he added with a smirk.

Sam laughed and, without waiting, he grabbed the gloves out of Peter’s hand, tucked one under his arm while holding the other one out for Peter to thread his hand into.

“Don’t even say anything,” he said. “Just get in there and do your worst.”

“You want me to _ hurt _ him?” Peter asked hesitantly while putting his hand into the glove.

Bucky laughed.

“Like you can’t imagine,” Sam said, sending a smirk and a wink Bucky’s way while lacing up the glove over Peter’s wrist.

“Hey,” Bucky said, smiling, “I said I was sorry.”

“You may have  _ said _ it,” Sam countered, moving on to help Peter with the second glove. “Doesn’t mean you  _ meant  _ it.”

“Sorry about what?” Peter asked.

“Kid,” Sam promised, “you don’t even wanna know.” He gave Bucky another long look over the top of Peter’s head, and Bucky snorted out a laugh, looking away. 

Peter narrowed his eyes into a suspicious squint as he looked between the two of them slowly.

“I’m missing something here, aren’t I?” he said eventually.

“Only about seventy years,” Sam agreed.

“You’ve…known each other for seventy years?” Peter asked skeptically.

Bucky let out a barking laugh.

“Sure we have,” he proclaimed. “Can’t you see all of his grey hairs?”

“The only way I'd get grey hair would be if I caught you anywhere near my car again,” Sam snorted. “And we both know that ain't gonna happen anytime soon, soldier boy.”

The moment the words left his mouth, however, Sam wanted to take them back. What had happened to Sam’s car that time on the bridge was still a bit of an open wound to Bucky, despite the talk they’d had about it recently. Sam knew that. He expected Bucky to look hurt, but to his combined relief and surprise, Bucky just tipped his head to the side with a smirk.

“It  _ is _ a swell car,” he drawled. 

Sam narrowed his eyes.

“Don't even think about it,” he warned grimly.

“German, right?” Bucky continued, as if he hadn't even heard. “You know, I do have some experience with those. Heard they’re pretty easy to hotwire.”

“Screw you, Barnes.”

“I don't think so,” Bucky retorted. “I have a star-spangled national icon for that.”

“Again with your sex life,” Sam groaned, rolling his eyes. “How many times do I have to tell you, I don't want anything to do with what you super-serumed lovebirds get up to in your spare time?”

“Hey, I’m not the one who brought it up.”

On Sam’s left, Peter let out a poorly-hidden adolescent-like snort.

“Shut up,” Sam and Bucky said in unison, and Peter immediately clamped his mouth shut and ducked his head. He was evidently still trying not to smile, however, and Sam rolled his eyes to the ceiling with a huff.

“C’mon, kid,” he berated. “Do you even know who this guy is?” He made a sweeping gesture towards Bucky, who raised a curious eyebrow at him. 

Peter shrugged, shaking his head.

“Uh… friend of yours with the cool metal arm?” he tried flatly. Seeing Sam and Bucky’s equally unimpressed looks, he added hopefully, “Packs a good punch?”

“Is that really all you took away from that fight?” Sam asked. Once again, he was met by an nonchalant shrug.

“That and how to knock over Super Ant-Guy,” Peter supplied.

Sam sighed again, pointing his thumb at Bucky.

“This guy,” he says, “is Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes.”

Peter’s face remained blank.

“The Winter Soldier?” Sam tried.

Peter licked his lips, eyes flitting in between the two men before him.

“That’s probably supposed to mean something, isn’t it?” he concluded.

“Man, high school sure changed when they gave you guys access to the internet,” Sam complained loudly, and Bucky let out a short, barely restrained snigger.

“Actually,” Peter argued, “the internet makes it a lot easier for us to look stuff up.”

“Oh, I bet it does,” Bucky agreed under his breath. 

Peter frowned in confusion, but when Bucky only gave him a long, amused look in return, something in the back of Peter’s brain finally appeared to click. Sam watched the teen’s cheeks instantly bloom a bright shade of pink and decided to take mercy on the poor guy.

“You,” he said firmly, pointing a reprimanding finger at Bucky, “shut up.” He turned back to Peter. “Didn’t you study history?”

“I was more into science, really,” Peter admitted. On their left, Bucky pulled another amused face, and Peter’s lips narrowed into a thin line as he gestured indignantly toward the former assassin. “And anyway, look at the guy. He’s like  _ forty _ , why would I know anything about him?”

Sam promptly burst out laughing while Bucky’s amused expression melted into an affronted gape. 

“Oh, man,” Sam snickered, “Better not let Cap catch’ya saying stuff like that.”

“Why not?” Peter asked, sounding as innocent as he looked. 

Sam walked over to Bucky and slapped the still-gaping man’s shoulder. “This is Bucky Barnes,” he explained. “Cap’s best friend since they were six—”

“I was seven,” Bucky cut in. “ _ He _ was six.”

“Whatever, man.” Sam waved him off as he turned back to Peter. “And for your information, the guy’s not a day over thirty.”

“I’m a hundred years old, actually,” Bucky corrected politely.

“Yeah, but unless your time spent as a popsicle counts, you’re still thirty,” Sam argued at the same time as Peter let out a squawking, “ _ Really? _ ”

“Yes, really,” Bucky confirmed with a slightly amused glance.

“So you… you got frozen then?” Peter asked enthusiastically. “Just like Cap?”

“Uh…” Bucky wavered a little, glancing between Sam and the teen beaming up at him. “Kinda.”

“Aw, man, that’s so cool!” Peter exclaimed, ducking to climb through the ropes of the ring as Sam held them apart for him. “Must be nice having your best friend with you in the future, huh? What’s that like?”

Sam chuckled, while Bucky followed Peter into the ring. “Probably a lot like high school,” he said, winking at Peter who immediately hid a grin behind his gloved hand when Bucky sent a glare Sam's way.

“Stuff it, Wilson.”

^^^^^^^^^^

Sam saw it happen. Peter blocked Bucky's jab, as instructed, then evaded the metal fist by ducking under it when it came flying towards him. And just like that, Bucky was wide open. Sam watched Peter straighten up, draw his right elbow back, and then clock the Winter Soldier square in the jaw.

Honestly, if he hadn't been there to witness it first hand, he would never have believed it. Fortunately, Sam was given the privilege of being able to laugh out loud at the sight. He clapped his hands together in gleeful cheer while Bucky rubbed at his jaw with the heel of his human hand.

“Lookin’ good, Parker!” Sam called over the ropes. “Make sure to give that old man a run for his money!”

Peter grinned, his body language sheepishly proud. Yet somehow he still managed to look appropriately remorseful when Bucky turned to glower at Sam over his shoulder.

“Make up your mind, will ya? Either I'm young, or I'm old.” He turned back to Peter and gave the young man an evaluating look. “That was quite a punch,” he commended. “You followed through with your footwork a lot better with that one.”

“Thanks.” Peter sounded slightly out of breath, but in Sam's opinion not nearly breathless enough for someone who'd spent the past twenty minutes sparring with a guy who could go one-on-one with Captain America and walk away from it afterwards.

Sam glanced at Bucky, noting the sheen of sweat that had appeared on the other man’s skin during the past few minutes of the fight. At first, all they'd done was give Parker instructions. How to stand, where to keep his fists, how to move his feet. There had been a lot of slow demonstrations and trial jabs, but the actual boxing hadn't kicked off until later. Yet, even in such a short amount of time, the spider-kid had managed to make Bucky Barnes break a sweat, and that, in Sam's book, was a victory all on its own.

“He still drops his guard when he lands a hit,” Sam points out. Better not to let the kid get too cocky.

“He’ll learn,” Bucky said confidently. He looked back at Peter with a smirk. “Steve still forgets to get his guard back up whenever he’s blocked a kick. We all have flaws.”

“Steve drops his guard after a kick?” Sam asked. “I've never noticed.”

“Have you ever tried kicking him?” Bucky asked.

“No.”

“Then that's why you haven't noticed.” Bucky turned back to Peter. “In fact, you remind me a lot of Steve when he was younger.”

“I do?” Peter asked in disbelief.

“Yup.” Bucky glanced down at the mat. “Back when we were kids, he had a knack of going after every guy within a two mile radius who happened to be both bigger and stronger than him. He got his ass kicked for it, sure, but he never backed down. Instead, he nagged me into teaching him how to fight.” He chuckled, shaking his head. “Don't tell him I said this, but for such a scrawny guy, the little bastard actually did know how to throw a punch.”  

He looked over at Peter again, holding his gaze. “My point is, it's never the physical strength that makes a hero. Steve was ninety pounds of skin and bone, and he still challenged the things he thought were wrong on a damn near daily basis. Now, you already have the muscle, but that's never going to be the most important quality you have. Steve was born a hero because of who he is on the inside, whether he believes it or not. That's what I see when i look at you.” 

Peter straightened up as Bucky reached out and clasped metal fingers around the top of his shoulder. “You've got heart, kid. Don't let anyone take that from you.”

Peter swallowed, nodding earnestly. “I won’t,” he promised, then added hesitantly, “Thank you, Mr. Barnes.”

“Don't mention it,” Bucky said. He took a step back, raising his fists. “Just make sure to keep that guard up.”

Smirking, Peter raised his gloves and mirrored Bucky’s fighting stance. 

Sam snorted out a low laugh and shook his head.

“This has been entertaining and all,” he said loudly, “but I don't have the time to stand around watching Barnes get his ass handed to him.” He threw his gym towel over his shoulder and raised his hand in a salute at the two in the boxing ring. “I'll see you around, old man.”

“Don't let the door hit you on the way out, Tweety Bird,” Bucky retorted while blocking Peter's first punch with his left arm.

“Whatever, wise-ass,” Sam muttered. “Good luck, kid!” he added, turning towards the door. 

He heard Peter's hurried “Thank you” behind him, but the phrase got abruptly cut off with a low  _ oomph _ , and a reprimanding, “Keep your guard up!” from Bucky, which had Sam laughing in spite of himself as he exited the gym.

 

**вафель** **[Waffles]**

When he walked into the tower’s communal kitchen Bucky found Ant-Man, or rather Scott, and another man he didn’t recognize opening random cupboards and inspecting the contents of drawers. Two other men were reclining on the sofa on the other side of the kitchen island, one playing a videogame and one with his head buried in a laptop. 

He had come here because Scott and his friends had offered to teach him how to cook. Bucky had promised Steve that he’d learn to make more than just kasha and left-over-vegetable stew (the only two things his still-healing memory had retained recipes for, if they could be called recipes). Which meant those were the only two things he and Steve ever ate when it was his turn to cook. Steve had insisted that he learn something new, maybe even from this era, and definitely something they could eat a lot of. 

Sam had made a few suggestions, all of which sounded complicated and full of stuff that was far too healthy. Bucky was  _ tired  _ of healthy. All he wanted to learn was the cooking equivalent of sitting on the sofa eating modern-day cereal straight from the box. If it was good enough for Clint Barton, it was good enough for Bucky Barnes. Besides, Bucky loved it whenever Barton waved the sugar-coated  _ Captain America Wholesome Hoops _ (theoretically supposed to look like little shields) in front of Steve’s nose, insisting he try it. Steve's face got all scrunched and adorable as he tried not to come off as rude, not that Bucky would have said that out loud.

Scott pulled his head out of the cupboard, promptly banging it against the door, when he noticed Bucky standing quietly next to them. 

“Whoa!” he said, rubbing at the back of his head. “A little  _ warning _ maybe?”

“Warning,” Bucky said flatly. “I’m here.”

The man next to Scott carefully backed up against the counter while the nearest of the two men on the couch snapped his attention to Bucky and warily rose to his feet.

“So-o…” Scott said, straightening his shoulders and stepping forward, hand out. “It’s really good to see you again. I hear you’re—”

“Less lethal. Still hungry,” Bucky greeted casually, trying not to smile at how hard Scott gripped his flesh-and-blood hand. Man, the guy was an enthusiastic shaker.

“Right, good, good. Then yeah, here, let me introduce you.” Scott motioned to the men standing by the sofa. “These guys kept me going when I was at my lowest, which—” he stopped mid-sentence, probably rethinking his phrasing, “—which you’re clearly not at anymore, so how ‘bout I just…” He grabbed at the tall dark man on the right, catching a hand in his shirt and yanking him forward. “This is Dave. You ever need a customized stolen car, he’s your guy.”

“Man, get off!” Dave shook Scott’s hand away with a quick, terrified glance at Bucky. “And don’t be telling him I steal cars and shit!” he added under his breath. “He hangs with  _ Captain America _ .  _ Damn,  _ bro.”

Scott looked a little sheepish. “Oh, sorry…” He looked around, obviously in search of another topic of conversation.  He pointed to the guy still seated on the couch, tapping away on his laptop as if Bucky’s sudden appearance wasn’t even remotely worthy of his attention. “And this is Kurt. Maybe you’ve heard of him? Best crazy Russian hacker out there. I mean, not  _ the _ Crazy Russian Hacker, but still one of the best. Oh, but not crazy.”

Kurt didn’t even look up from his computer, just pumped a fist in the air. “ Привет .” [Hey.] 

Scott turned to the man still backed up against the kitchen counter and found to his amusement that the man had gone from surprised gawking to practically buzzing with excitement. He was, in fact, wearing the biggest grin Bucky had seen in ages. It was kind of nice. No one was ever that happy to see him except Steve.

The man reached out and clasped around Bucky’s hand before Bucky could even reciprocate the gesture, and yeah, if Scott had been enthusiastic about the whole greeting thing, then this one was downright  _ manic. _

“ _Wow_ ,” the man said eagerly. “The Winter Soldier. This is so rad, man. Almost makes me wish I was back in prison, you know? So I could tell everyone about this, you know what I’m sayin?.”

“You want to be back in prison?” Bucky frowned, but the man didn’t stop grinning even for a second.

“Yeah, no, uh,” Scott said, quickly cutting in and more or less prying the other man’s hand away from Bucky’s. “Just—uhm— This is Luis.  And he’s the best cook in California.”

“West Coast,” Luis complained. “Best cook on the  _ West Coast. _ ” He turned back to Bucky, thumping a closed fist against his own chest. “And yo, man, for real, it’s an honor. You’re a legit hero of mine. I mean aside from all the killing and shit.”

Bucky honestly didn’t know what to say to that. Fortunately, he was saved from having to reply by Sam, who at that precise moment had decided to enter the kitchen.

“Hey Tic-Tac.” He fist-bumped Scott before turning to look at the others. “See you got the whole posse here today.”

Scott’s three friends said their hellos. Sam leaned back against the island and asked, “So, what’s on the menu for today?”

Everyone looked at Luis who was now bouncing on the balls of his feet.

“All right, all right! So this’ll be great, ‘cause I know you’re some badass James Bond-Triple X spy-guy, but you still gotta eat, right? Scott said he was talking with your man, Cap - he’s some next-level super-soldier and all, like you, right? - and he told Scott how he eats, like,  _ six  _ times a day and stuff, but he never learned how to cook because he was always sick, and his mom and his friend had to look after him, and he’d get into these fights and then his mom died. Which is sad and I can relate and all and, if he wants to talk about it sometime, I’m there for him, you know?”

Out of the corner of his eye, Bucky saw Sam take a breath and open his mouth, but Luis was faster.

“But then Cap said you moved in and took care of him after that, you guys being bros and all, and well, I mean, you’re more than that, right? Scott here says you guys’ve been a couple like  _ forever _ , and that’s beautiful, I mean, love is beautiful and there’s no saying two bros can’t be with each other like that, you know what I’m saying? I’m all for that shit, ‘cause like  _ mi abuela _ , you know, she’n my granddad were together for like—”

“Is this going somewhere?” Sam cut in, not bothering trying to be polite, “because dude’s already lost enough years.”

Scott bristled, looking a little embarrassed, but said enthusiastically, “Yeah, it is, give him a chance. I swear, this guys’s cooking will blow your mind.”

“Yeah man,” Luis agreed. “I’mma hook you up with the sweetest meal in like,  _ ever _ , cause, I mean, you totally deserve it. Like, Scott says Cap said they put you through some harsh-ass treatment back before, you know, when everyone thought you kicked it, but then you came back to life and were all evil and shit. I mean, not  _ evil _ , but you know, not  _ you _ .” He went on babbling away, and Bucky was genuinely getting a little concerned for the guy’s lungs, but was equally fascinated by how emphatically he gestured with his hands as he rattled on, “and how you’ve changed and all, and getting your memory back, because that can’t be easy forgetting ‘bout all the fun stuff, you know? I remember my cousin Yolanda telling me about how she’d forgot about how bad childbirth was before she had her second little girl, like, because apparently the body compensates or something and makes the ladies forget and well, anyway, at least your man is this cool-ass Avenger now and isn’t still picking fights—” 

“Actually, he is,” Bucky interrupted. 

Luis opened his mouth, but Sam intercepted him.  “Right, so can we move this along? I’m supposed to be—”

“Sam, I can do this without you,” Bucky assured him. “I know Scott; he’s not gonna let anything,” he looked around the kitchen, “bad happen.”

Scott leapt to agree. “Exactly! Besides, Mr Stark’s got robots that’ll clean this up, right? Robots? Arrow Guy was telling me about that.”

Sam shook his head with a smirk. “Nah, man, you do your own cleaning. Cap would be very disappointed if you made someone else clean up your mess.”

“How’s he gonna know if we don’t tell him?” Dave piped up from the sofa, and Sam choked out a laugh. 

“Are you kidding?” he asked. “With the amount of surveillance in this place?”

“Not today,” Kurt said brusquely from the sofa, for the first time looking up from his computer. “No surveillance during cooking lesson.”

“About that,” FRIDAY’s disembodied voice startled them all.  “Mr. Stark would like to see you later, Mr. Sergeyev.” Bucky wasn’t sure, but he was fairly certain he had caught a hint of  _ snide _ creeping into the A.I.’s tone.

Scott, Luis, Dave, and Kurt looked up, eyes darting around the walls and ceiling. Luis even threw a suspicious look at the windows.

“A.I.,” Bucky clarified, pointing at the ceiling. That seemed to be enough for everyone.  Luis murmured out a low  _ ‘cool’  _ under his breath and grinned upward.

“Oh, man, does that mean he’s mad?” Scott asked, eyes wide as he finally digested FRIDAY’s message. “I knew we shouldn’t have come here—”

“He’d like to see you all about a job,” FRIDAY clarified from the ceiling. 

“Really?” Scott beamed.

“Way to go, Iron Man,” Luis said, beaming at the ceiling. Scott didn't look nearly as happy, so Luis continued, “I mean, I know how you feel, man, but Mr. Stark, he’s like a some kind of national treasure, and -”

Over the sound of a digital car crash from the television, Dave said, “Hey, can we like, get on with it? I’m hungry.”

Luis turned back to Bucky. “Yeah, so you know, anyway, you being Captain America’s long-lost butt-kicking significant other," Luis continued, "I thought we might start with teaching you how to cook a wicked nice treat for him.”

Sam raised his eyebrows. “Birthday cake?”

Scott practically wilted. “Aw, man, I wanted waffles.”

Luis nodded, shoulders and head bouncing as one as he snapped his fingers at Scott in approval. “Yeah, we’ll be sticking to waffles. Bad-ass soldier dude isn't ready for birthday cake.”

“I might be,” Bucky argued, crossing his arms over his chest. “I'm pretty good at most things. Ask Steve.”

At that, Sam and Scott were the only ones not to snicker.

“Barnes,” Sam said gruffly, “I’ve told you, no one wants to hear about your sex life.”

“I do,” Kurt disagreed.

“A love story for the ages, man,” Dave said dramatically, though accurately Bucky reflected. 

“No,” Kurt clarified, actually placing his laptop down on the coffee table. “I am wanting the sexy stories.”

“ может по позже , ” Bucky offered with a smirk. [Maybe later.]

“Guys,” Scott reminded them. “Cooking?” 

“Yeah man, so like waffles,” Luis picked up like he’d never stopped talking. “I know you got like nine hundred waffle irons in this place, ‘cause my man Mr. Stark has all the mod cons and smoothie machines, you know? Guy is the 1 in the 1%, not that I'm complaining, the man donates like Fort Knox to charity every day. Like when my cousin Yolanda’s oldest girl was in the hospital, that whole wing she was in had been built by—”

“Yeah, that's great,” Sam interrupted, and Bucky thought, not without amusement, that someone ought to go find poor bird-man a Snickers. “Can we just make a start here?”

“You don't have to wait around, you know,” Bucky offered. “I'll bring you some waffles.”

“I don't want any waffles,” Sam grumbled, looking around the assorted group with an expression that reminded Bucky strongly of Steve’s ‘dad face’. “You all gonna be okay here? Or did you want me to help out with something…?”

“No, we’re good,” Scott said, though the statement lost some conviction when he turned to his friends and asked, “We good, right?”

“As long as you've got like, real milk, and not that skimmed stuff that my old man used to put in—”

“As if,” FRIDAY declared firmly. If an A.I. could huff, Bucky thought, this one would have.

Luis nodded. “Yeah, then we’re good.”

“Didn’t Mr. Stark say in an interview he only drank soy—” Scott began, but FRIDAY was too insulted by the question to even let him finish asking it.

“Not on my watch.”

“Okay,” Sam said, turning and walking out of the kitchen, “y’all are just standing around arguing about milk now, so I'm leaving.” 

“Milk is important, man,” Luis called, and Bucky found himself nodding along with Scott like he knew what the hell Luis was actually talking about. It felt…good, though. Like he was part of a group. A weird prison group, but still… 

“Okay,” he said as he turned to fix his gaze on Luis. “Teach me waffles.”

Bucky was sure he’d never seen anyone smile brighter.

“Man, you’re gonna love waffles," Luis enthused.  "They’re easy-peasy, like crackin' open a box of Stouffer's chocolates, but my momma was always saying that Stouffer's is cheating, but we’re not going to be cheating, man. I mean you could, you know? Like that stuff they make in powder, you can do all sorts of shit with that, and you don’t even need milk, but using water is a sin, man; even my cousin Alejandro would tell you it's a sin and he’s an atheist now, even though it breaks his momma’s heart, you know? Because that’s just the truth of things.”

Bucky was nodding. Scott was nodding. Everyone was nodding. Bucky had no clue what Luis was talking about, or maybe he did. Milk  _ was  _ important?

“So we’re not cheating. We’re gonna be  _ awesome _ and make this thing from scratch because that’s how you get a man, you know? I mean,  _ I _ wouldn’t know, but my sister’s friend Gabriella is always saying that food is how you get a man and she makes the  _ best _ casseroles and enchiladas and these banana bread rolls that I would seriously go back to jail for, they are that good; so we’re gonna teach you how to feed your man and that’s important. Here we go.”

“Hang on,” Scott interrupted. “If Gabriella is giving you the food, doesn’t that mean she’s trying to get  _ you  _ to be her man?”

For once Luis was at a loss for words. He opened his mouth and then stopped, lips still parted. Bucky was worried for a moment, but then the man rallied, sounding slightly dazed. “Man, I gotta call Gabriella when we’re done teaching your boy how to make waffles.”

“Yeah, I think that’s probably a good idea,” Scott said, nodding.

 

**You’re not the director of me.**

“It’s a box of plastic forks.”

“That will go with the kitchen supplies,” Maria Hill said casually, not glancing up from where she was sorting through her own cardboard S.H.I.E.L.D.-logo-embossed box. Bucky frowned and tilted his head to the side. It didn’t help; he was still pretty sure she was sifting through take-out menus.

“Do those go with the kitchen supplies, too?”

“No,” Maria answered, as if Bucky wasn’t being sarcastic. “They’ll be shredded. I see no operational purpose in keeping them.”

“But plastic forks…”

Maria looked up and fixed him with a cool stare that rivaled Steve’s ‘not amused’ face in intensity. Luckily for Bucky, he’d been immune to that face for decades.  “A box that size? That’s probably about fifty dollars. Fifty dollars that can be spent on something more important.” She went back to the takeout menus. “Like ammunition.”

Bucky had to admit, that was a fair point. Ammunition was  _ much _ cooler to buy than plastic cutlery. 

“It’s almost like you know me, Maria,” he quipped, and for just a second, he thought he saw a tiny smile tug at her lips.

Shoving his metal hand in among the forks, Bucky pushed them around until he was certain there was nothing hidden beneath the plastic. He’d found a few USB drives stashed haphazardly with all the other, well, junk that they’d been sorting, so you never knew. 

“Regret it yet?” Maria said, tossing aside a menu from Shawarma Grill.

“Regret what?” Bucky asked.  That question could easily open a can of worms when it came to his psyche.

“Agreeing to help me with this since Sam’s out of town.” 

“No,” Bucky answered honestly, “though I’m a little surprised that it’s all… Well, I thought this would be more…”

“Interesting? Sexy? All spy stuff?” Maria asked, and there was that twitch of a smile again.

“Basically.”

“Most people are surprised by how much bureaucracy goes on in a place like S.H.I.E.L.D. Hasn’t Captain Rogers talked to you about his paperwork?”

“We don’t really talk about work,” Bucky admitted.

“It’s not the same now. We need to dot every ‘i’ and cross every ‘t’ in case we end up in the public eye again. As much as Widow achieved by dumping everything out there, clearing away the…” Maria stopped and looked as though she was rethinking her original statement. “Now that we’re effectively holding our own purse strings and running the show again, all this needs to be squared away as quickly as possible; we don’t want Hydra getting a chance to regroup before we can.”

“Copy that,” Bucky said emphatically.

Satisfied he hadn’t missed anything, he closed the book and set it with the other boxes next to the masking tape strip on the floor with the single word ‘kitchen’ on it. Since Maria had gone back to silence, he opened the next box and then closed his eyes. Tightly. When he opened them, the green and rainbow tangle was still staring back at him.

“Christmas lights,” he announced flatly.

To his surprise, Maria looked up, curious. “How many?”

“How many?” Bucky repeated, glancing back in the box. “Um… A lot?”

“Sort them and write a count on the box,” Maria ordered, then added, “Christmas lights cost more than plastic forks.”

Bucky snorted and started pulling the strings of light bulbs out and detangling them. To his surprise, at the bottom of the box, beneath the lights, was a layer of Christmas decorations. Not the new, shiny, glittery ones, but old glass bulbs with the paint flaking from age.

“Wow,” Bucky murmured, “I think my mom had some like this.”

From the corner of his eye, he saw Maria look up again.

“Put the lights back and set the box under ‘personal’,” Maria said, already nose deep again in the take-out menus. “Maybe Captain Rogers left a box of his things at Headquarters.”

Bucky opened his mouth, tried to speak, but found his voice just wouldn’t work like he was telling it to. Clearing his throat, he squeaked out a “Thanks,” and carried the box to ‘personal’. Just in case, he snagged a sharpie and wrote ‘Steve’ on the side.

“Sam said you were getting more memories of your family back,” Maria said, and Bucky was kind of impressed that her face barely shifted expression.

“Sam says a lot of things,” he said gruffly, but she’d given him the ornaments so he offered, “He’s not wrong. It’s been…difficult. There’s some nieces and nephews on the East Coast, but…”

“Family isn’t easy,” Maria said, with enough sympathy Bucky thought she was talking from experience. Maybe that’s why she offered him the way out.

“No, it ain’t,” he said fervently.

The next box Bucky opened smelled funny and, when the lid came off, he was treated to the full stench of dead houseplants. Why anyone had boxed up air ferns and peace lilies was beyond him, but he wasn’t about to judge. It was an easy box anyway, the lid going right back on and the box joining the ‘dump’ group. A box of napkins joined the plastic forks, and a box packed to the brim with some guy’s holiday photos with his family went into ‘personal’. Bucky hoped the guy hadn’t been Hydra; Some of the pictures of the kids were really sweet.

“Glad to see you don't think it’s creepy going through those,” Maria said when he'd ensured the entire box really had nothing in it but family photos.

“Do S.H.I.E.L.D. agents usually store their family stuff at the office like this?” Bucky asked.

“Sometimes,” she admitted. “If you’re going into deep cover, or if you’re moving, or maybe you want to steal time with the high-quality scanner.” Bucky snorted. “Could be the photos were for someone’s cover, though.” 

“That’s… I don’t like that,” Bucky admitted, because his therapist said he should tell people when that crawling, twisting feeling came back. “It looks… _ real _ .”

“Oh, it is,” Maria said. “That’s not what I meant. We use people’s real photos for their cover.  They bring them in and we make copies so they don’t lose anything if they have to make a quick evac. Or if they don’t have family and they need to look like that have one, we’ll touch them up to match the undercover operative. In that case it’s always best to use the originals.”

“Oh,” Bucky said, the knot in his stomach easing. “So should I have not put those in ‘personal’?”

“Best to do so,” Maria said. “If no one claims them, we’ll probably just reuse them.”

Realizing Maria had moved on from the take-out menus and was going through what looked like a couple thousand pages of something, Bucky took a step closer to her table instead of his own.

“You want some help with that?”

“ _ Please _ ,” Maria said with so much feeling Bucky couldn’t help but grin. “Someone seems to have made thousands of copies of a missing cat poster and then left them behind. Who  _ does _ that?”

“Someone who finds their cat?” Bucky offered, taking a stack and smiling at the cute cat being cradled in someone’s arms.  The loving owner's head had been cropped off. “Missy,” he said aloud. “Cute name.”

“You’d think so,” Maria said.

“What’s that mean?” Bucky flipped through his stack to be sure they were all posters of the cat and not some misfiled mission briefing.

“Means you’re  _ old _ , Barnes,” Maria said flatly.

Bucky laughed. “Yeah, but I’m not single.”

Maria’s look was as flat as her tone had been.

“Burn,” she said dryly.

“You know,” Bucky said carefully, “Sam’s single.”

“Really?” Maria said, her voice just a shade too high for Bucky to believe it.

“Yeah,” he went on casually. “Why were you looking for him anyway?”

“He volunteered to help out,” Maria answered, flicking a glance his way as if asking what the point of this line of questioning was.

Bucky snorted. “Oh, I  _ bet _ he did.”

“What’s  _ that _ supposed to mean?” Maria demanded, now meeting his gaze square on.

“Oh, come on,” Bucky teased, but her expression didn’t waver and he trailed off weakly. Shit… Was he about to out Sam? Yeah, yeah he was, but it was what a good friend would do. Right? “You should ask him for coffee sometime,” he suggested. “See what happens.”

“And you think he’ll say yes,” Maria scoffed, gesturing at Bucky with the flyers.

“I do,” Bucky said simply, praying Sam wasn’t going to castrate him for this. 

“Huh,” was all Maria gave him, before turning back to her work.

They finished the box of flyers together – enough, Bucky thought, to paper an entire city – and Maria shoved the box at him.  

“Shred it,” she instructed. “In case there’s some kind of code.”

Bucky knew Sam would have laughed at the statement, but  _ he _ knew it was a fair point. Just because they couldn’t see it, didn’t mean it wasn’t there. Shredding paper turned out to be  _ way _ more fun than sorting it, which Bucky thought might be why Maria had let him do it. Soon he was enthusiastically shoving stacks of paper into the machine, eagerly watching it get sucked through the spinning teeth and spit out as shreds on the other side.

Maybe too enthusiastically, Bucky thought as the shredder let out an eardrum-piercing shriek, spit sparks, and then erupted in smoke.

“Barnes?!” Maria called, looking genuinely alarmed as she hurried away from her table.

“Oops?” Bucky set his flesh hand on the edge of the shredder and then yanked it back. His metal arm, trapped at the wrist by the razor sharp teeth, groaned and then shrieked again as he pulled it free, tearing the metal in the process.

“Barnes!” Maria yelled. “Do you know how much that thing  _ cost _ ?!”

He presumed she meant the shredder. “Uh, no,” Bucky said and then added quickly as her face morphed into a great murder-glare, “but at least I didn’t lose an arm. Again.”

“Shit, Fury is going to bust another gut.” Maria’s face fell as she realized what she’d said, and who she was talking to. Rubbing the bridge of her nose with one hand, Maria scowled down at the floor. “Sorry. 

Somehow, Bucky was sure this was Sam’s fault for it not being him who was here doing this. “I’ll see if Stark can make a new shredder that can withstand super-soldiers while I’m asking for repairs,” he offered hopefully.

Maria nodded slowly. “Copy that.”

Turns out Tony could, though he very carefully and uncharacteristically didn’t ask for any details. And Sam just laughed, damn him.

 

**Quantum Mechanics**

“I assure you, Sergeant,” Vision said firmly, “this is completely unnecessary. I have the capacity to deduce infinite amounts of data from a vast majority of sources.” 

Bucky blinked and mentally sifted through his entire array of possible comebacks to that before deciding to go with the most obvious one.  “Um, I’m sure that’s great and all… but… uh… have you actually  _ done  _ it?” 

“Of course not.”

Bucky resisted the urge to facepalm himself.

“Well,” he said diplomatically, “then that might be the reason you don’t actually know what you’re doing.”

Vision frowned. “I am positive that I could perform any…  _ act _ according to… satisfactory specifications.”

“That is what you said about the paprikash too,” Wanda chipped in from her end of the couch where she was leaning against the armrest next to Vision’s lanky form. She was dressed in a soft-looking knitted sweater and a pair of black jeans. Vision was wearing a similar fashion, relaxed in jeans and a grey pullover.

From his chair next to the couch, Bucky gave Wanda a wary squint. “Do I wanna know what that means?”

“It means that she didn’t consider my interpretation of the recipe to be accurate.”

“So you’re… blaming the tools?” Bucky tried. 

Vision blinked. Actually blinked, and looked even more puzzled than he had before.  

“Perhaps it was my understanding of the word ‘pinch’,” he confessed, and Bucky blanched.

“Which leads us back to the reason for this conversation,” Wanda said flatly, the tone of her voice making Bucky shift uncomfortably in his seat.

“Um… can you…? I mean, do you have…?” Jeez, this was even worse than when he'd had to give this talk to Stevie when he was eleven – only this time they didn't have the benefit of that Tijuana bible Bucky had found on the docks to help make the penny drop. 

“I have accessed multiple websites—” Vision started.

Wanda rolled her eyes. 

“He means porn,” she clarified to Bucky, adding an affronted “What?” when Vision turned to look at her with wide, surprised eyes. “What? Sharing your browser history with a brother left very little to the imagination. I know what websites you are talking about.”

Bucky cleared his throat and Vision tore his eyes away from Wanda with a nervous flick of his tongue. “I have also studied video footage from Mr. Stark’s files,” he began. 

“I’m not so sure Tony Stark could be considered an expert here,” Bucky hedged. He for one was fairly certain that whatever Stark got up to on his time off, it probably didn’t fall in the normal parts of the spectrum. Vision's shoulders slumped from yet another dismissal, and Bucky shook his head with an exasperated sigh.

“Look,” he said pleadingly, “all I’m saying is that this isn’t exactly like putting together a bookshelf. Just because you  _ know  _ how to do it doesn’t mean you know  _ how to do it _ ."

The furrow on Vision’s brow deepened. “I’m afraid the distinction escapes me, Sergeant Barnes.”

“Well…” Bucky sat up higher in his chair and laced his fingers together, perhaps to pray for inner strength. “It’s all about reading your partner,” he began. “Understanding their reactions in the  _ present _ . Not just replicating a performance you saw somewhere else.”

“I am perfectly able to read all manner of feedback from a potential partner,” Vision retorted.

“You make it sound like she’s going to be filling out a  _ form _ ,” Bucky groaned with a gesture towards Wanda.

She shook her head with a horrified look as Vision sent her a questioning glance.

“No, Vision,” she declared. “I am  _ not _ filling out a form.”

“Oh, no,” Vision agreed. “That would be inefficient. I can gauge your state of sexual arousal from real-time biometric data such as heart and respiratory rate, as well as endorphin, perspiration and vaginal engorgement levels.”

“Woah there!” Bucky exclaimed, putting his hands up. “See, this is what I mean! You don’t  _ say _ things like that. It’s not  _ sexy _ .”

“Indeed, it is not,” Wanda said decidedly, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Being sexy was not part of my intention,” Vision defended himself, obviously clueless.

Bucky took a deep breath, bracing himself.

“Right,” he agreed. “Right! So back to the present. This here, right now. Vision,” he instructed. “Look at Wanda. What are you seeing?”

Turning his head, Vision looked Wanda up and down from across his seat.

“Female,” he stated flatly. “Early twenties. Caucasian. Metabolic functions within normal ranges. Third phase of menstrual cyc…”

“Yeah, no, no,” Bucky interrupted. “What are you  _ seeing _ ? How does she seem to you? What is her mood?”

Vision examined Wanda again. “I would say she appears irritated and a little discomforted.”

“You think?” Wanda scoffed.

“So..?” Bucky prompted. “If she’s annoyed and uncomfortable, what do you suppose  _ you  _ should be doing, as a general response?”

Vision’s gaze flicked between the two humans in hesitation. “I should probably…adapt my behavior to improve her mood?” he tried hopefully. 

Bucky smiled. “Now you’re getting it,” he commended.

Vision turned back to Wanda, reaching out and taking her hand.  “Wanda, you are a very beautiful woman. I am extraordinarily lucky to have you to care for me.”

Slowly, Wanda allowed her other arm to drop from its defensive position across her torso, a fond smile playing at the corner of her mouth.

“Smooth talker,” she said

Vision smiled back, before turning to Bucky with a shrug.

“And then we engage in sexual intercourse,” he explained. “ _ That _ I do not think I need to explain further.”

Bucky blinked. “Well, you might wanna get some… er… feedback from your partner to make sure you’ve actually improved her mood before that, don’t you think?” 

Vision gave him (another) incomprehensive scowl, looking for a moment as frustrated with Bucky as Bucky felt with him. “Sergeant, I understand the fundamental requirements of heterosexual penetrative sex. If you’re suggesting I would make any attempt to engage in such activities without Wanda’s  _ consent— _ ”

“No!” Bucky said hastily, throwing both hands into the air in front of him. “That’s not what I meant at all, I— I was referring more to whether or not you… uhm… I mean, approximately how long does it usually take between the mood-improving measures and the actual…sex?” Oh, man, this was getting out of control. Bucky could feel himself becoming increasingly torn between rolling his eyes at the whole situation and giggling like a twelve-year-old whenever someone mentioned anything related to the word “penis”.

“It’s all right, Bucky,” Wanda said,  a secretive little smile playing at the corner of her mouth. “The suggestion of sex usually comes from my end.”

Bucky grinned. Apart from Steve, Wanda was the only person in the Tower who never bothered to call him anything other than Bucky. Not “James”, or “Barnes”, or “Sarge” like the others did. Just Bucky, straight off the bat, and Bucky may or may not have begun to adore her for that.

“Well, that’s good at least,” he concluded, turning back to Vision. “But this isn’t  _ just _ about the  _ relationship _ between the two of you. And it’s not just about the mechanics either.” Bucky struggled to conjure up an image from his salad days back before the War. Mostly now, he just liked to focus on when he and Steve had finally come to their senses about each other. “Sometimes, sex without the relationship is all people want or need, and that can be pretty nice. Sometimes with one is what’s going to be best. Good sex is… part strategy, part ‘go with it’.” 

“Go with what?” Vision asked, less hostile and more intrigued.

“Um… using your intuition?” Bucky suggested. “And if you’re still not sure, asking your partner what she’d like is always a good way to go.”

“Wanda,” Vision said, turning back to grasp both of her hands pleadingly. “I want to be a good lover;  _ please _ do not hesitate to tell me what activities you would like to engage in.”

Wanda looked down at Vision’s hands gripping around her own, and then sent a sideward glance at Bucky “How very… formal.”

“Am I doing it wrong?” Vision said, despair in his voice as he too turned to look at Bucky. “I am, aren’t I?”

Bucky groaned under his breath as he struggled with what words to use. The expression “utterly clueless” immediately came to mind, but he shoved it away. He was there to help the poor fella, not insult him. 

“It’s not that you’re doing it wrong,” he started slowly, feeling this way. “It’s just that you’re not…” He trailed off. He had been about to say that Vision didn’t appear sincere enough in his efforts to make this work, because the man --, robot, creature, whatever -- obviously  _ was  _ sincere. What he lacked wasn’t sincerity, or the desire to do well. It was something else…

“Listen,” Bucky said with a sigh, “I know you want this.  _ Wanda _ knows you want this, and  _ we _ both know you’re trying your best to make it work. But the way you say things, they… they don’t come out sounding like you mean it.” Vision visibly deflated in front of him, and he struggled to find the right way to put it. “You sound like you’re reading from a textbook. You’re conveying information, and delivering facts, but you don’t sound… emotionally invested.” Sometimes he couldn’t believe the words coming out of his mouth, considering his own history. 

He nodded towards Vision’s hands, which were still clasping Wanda’s. “See that? That’s emotional investment, right there. That’s  _ intimacy _ . I don’t know how to explain it better but you need to figure out what it is that makes you want to do  _ that _ , and take it into the bedroom with you.” 

He gave Wanda an apologetic shrug. “I’m sorry if that doesn’t make any sense, but I honestly can’t figure out any other way to put it.”

“It’s all right,” Wanda said, smiling. She slowly moved her thumbs back and forth over the back of Vision’s hands. “I understand it perfectly.”

Vision looked at her, and Bucky felt a fanfare of triumph go off inside his chest at the sudden understanding he saw lighting up the other man’s eyes. 

“I see…” Vision murmured. He gave Wanda’s hands an affectionate squeeze, then turned towards Bucky, bowing his head. “I must confess that I’ve been conceited, Sergeant. It’s obvious that neither my AI self, nor my human adaptations, have prepared me fully for this. I apologize.”

_ You can say that again _ , Bucky thought with an internal laugh. “Don’t worry about it,” he soothed. “Just… maybe try to listen more to the human part in the future, but also use a little forethought while you do it.” 

“Do you mean contraception?” Vision asked.

Bucky sagged, an involuntary “ugh” escaping him as the confusion returned to Vision’s face. Beside him, Wanda echoed the sound as she slumped her shoulders while shaking her head slowly.

“Listen, buddy,” Bucky said earnestly. “You’ll get the hang of it, I’m sure. And as much as I’d love to tell you that there’s some great secret to this, I’m sorry to say that there isn’t. It’s all about feeling. Emotion. If you wanna make what happens in the bedroom a success, you need to take the feelings you have for her in there with you. Stop thinking about it as a task, or something that has a predetermined objective or quantifiable components. Have fun with it, play around, joke, and laugh, and just… Just  _ love _ each other! That’s it. That’s the only thing you’re supposed to be doing. Everything else is irrelevant, which means that  _ you _ ,” he said, pointing at Vision, “don’t talk about it. You  _ don’t _ bring up statistics, or start trying to reenact scenarios you’ve seen on the Internet. Uh… unless of course you want to.” 

_ Shit, what was he even talking about? He sounded like _ Steve,  _ for Christ’s sake _ . “Um…” He looked at Vision’s perplexed expression. “You know what? All of that stuff, just forget it.” He pointed to Wanda. “That right there is the only source of information you’ll need.”

There was a moment of silence where Wanda looked at Bucky in the same way his sister used to do when she thought Bucky had said something utterly profound and uncharacteristically wise. It was a look that made heat rise to Bucky’s cheeks, and he had to look away. Then Vision, oddly, dragged in a breath, let it out, and inhaled once more, before breaking the silence.

“Ah,” he said, pausing briefly. “I believe I…finally understand. Thank you.” He looked at Bucky and smiled. Kind of. It was the smile of a man who had just received an earth-shattering epiphany, and was now doing his best to put the world around him back together the correct way. Wanda  _ definitely _ smiled, openly now, and Bucky smiled back. His cheeks were still flushed bright pink, he knew that, but the satisfaction and actual pride he felt at finally having made it through outshone that in the same way the sun would outshine a flashlight.

He was happy that he’d been able to help, and he was about to wish the pair good luck and be on his way when Vision frowned. Bucky’s heart sank. Perhaps they weren’t as through with this topic as he'd thought.

“I understand now that my issue has not been knowledge or lack of understanding for the mechanics,” Vision began, almost thoughtfully, “but rather in the way I have held these things in favor over the emotional state of the situation.” 

Bucky nodded, holding his breath. 

“So,” Vision continued, “with that in mind, I feel like I ought to have a conversation regarding how to express such emotions in the most proper and desirable way, with someone who knows how to do so.”

“Sounds fair,” Bucky agreed, but he immediately regretted it when Vision leaned in and looked him in the eye.

“Then please,” he said, “tell me how it works between you and Captain Rogers.”

By his side, Wanda made a choking sound as she brought her hand up in front of her mouth. 

“Are you all right?” Vision asked, immediately turning to her with a concerned look.

“Fine,” Wanda said between coughs, “I’m fine, Vision, but don’t you think—” She cut herself off with another series of coughs, and Bucky could feel his subsiding blush flare back to life until he was most likely as red as one of Wanda’s spells.

“Uh.” He looked down at the shiny metal of his wrist, searching for a watch that wasn’t, and had never been, there. By now, Wanda was chortling instead of choking, but Vision didn’t seem to have picked up on the difference as he continued to rub her back in soothing motions. 

Thankfully, Bucky had been trained to adapt to changes in a mission at breakneck speed. Quickly, he assessed the different available strategies, sorting through and discarding several possible responses, before finally settling firmly on the option of removing himself from the conversation as quickly as possible.

“Actually, I think I have to go,” he said, deciding on an additional strategy detail for the extraction plan even as he nimbly rose to his feet - namely, dumping the whole mission on someone else. “I promised Steve I’d meet him for lunch,” he excused himself, firmly  _ not _ looking at Wanda, who’d become literally teary with laughter. “You know what you should do, though?” he rambled on. “You  _ really _ should talk to Sam about this. He’d explain it all  _ so _ much better than me, really, he’s great at stuff like this. You know, all that counseling stuff he’s into? He’s a professional, trust me, it’ll be better than my version, by far, I promise.” 

Quickly, he gathered up his jacket from where he’d tossed it over the back of the chair he had been sitting in and threw it on as he turned around. “Sorry, I really gotta go,” he apologized again, heading for the door and deliberately cutting Vision off when the other opened his mouth to speak. “Good luck, and I’ll see you guys later!” he called over his shoulder as he passed through the doorway. Then he was out of there faster than the cars of the Cyclone down that first gut-twisting drop.

 

**The first 100 years are the hardest.**

“Just you wait till the after-party, Cap,” Tony declared confidently. “We’ve got all the fresh Depression-era swing beats. You know what, that sounded better in my head.” 

Rhodes rolled his eyes. “No,” he objected. “No more after-parties for you, Tony.” 

“What’s an after-party?” Steve piped up.

Rhodes turned to him with a cautioning shake of his head. 

“Trust me, you don’t need one.” He made a nod at Tony. “At least not one he’s hosting. This party will be fine.”

Steve looked out over the people gathered on the Stark Tower common floor, smiling. “I’m sure it will be,” he said. “I don’t think I’ve been slapped on the back by so many people since I came back from Azzano.”

A member of the wait staff came up and offered the group a tray filled with dubious-looking pastries which had all been impaled on sticks and were now lying suspiciously innocently next to a little pot of syrup.

Bucky untangled himself from around Steve’s waist and enthusiastically grabbed the tray out of the waiter’s hand. “Okay, gather ‘round, folks. Everyone has to try one of these.”

One by one, they each took a pastry off the tray and dunked them into the little bowl. As the syrup dripped down the surface of the already golden-brown treats, the group shared a short, quizzical glance, and then took tentative bites out of the food.

“Did I just eat a bug?” Tony said, once he’d swallowed. “I think that was shaped like an ant.” 

“They taste good though,” Steve offered. 

“Thanks,” Bucky replied, dipping his own waffle into the syrup a second time. 

“Oh, my god…” Sam said slowly. “Are these your “party waffles”, Barnes?”

Bucky opened his (still-full) mouth to speak, but was cut off as Thor reached out and plucked another pastry off the tray. 

“Friend Steve,” he said pensively, “why should it be that this food resembles my manhood?”

“Really, that small?” Tony said, looking over at the pastry in Thor’s hand.

“ _ An _ y warrior’s manhood,” Thor clarified, looking skyward with an exasperated sigh.

Steve stared at the penis-shaped pastry in Thor’s rather giant grasp, then turned to Bucky with a reprimanding tilt of his head.

“Hey, that wasn’t me!” Bucky defended himself quickly. “I just made the Cap ones. And the Falcon ones.” He held his own, half-eaten shield-shaped waffle up as proof, and Steve sighed, looking back at Thor’s undoubtedly phallus-looking waffle.

“Maybe it’s supposed to be your hammer?” he tried.

“ _ Not  _ a euphemism,” Tony said gleefully. 

On Bucky’s left, Sam snatched off the tray a waffle that looked like a cross with a ball on top of it and held it up to his face with a suspicious squint. “Wait…” he said. “So this is supposed to be  _ me? _ ” He glowered at Bucky.  _ “Really?” _

Without answering, Bucky simply reached out and grabbed Sam’s forearm, wrenching the man's hand to his mouth, where he proceeded to bite the figure’s head clean off before Sam could stop him. 

“Mmm,” he hummed, obviously pleased. “Delicious.”

“Dude!” Sam objected indignantly. “Yanking off my wings wasn’t enough, now you gotta go after my head too?”

“Oh, you know,” Bucky said, waving his hand dismissively. “Forgive and forget, all that jazz.”

“Oh, I’ll give you something to forgive, all right…” Sam muttered under his breath, but he had barely finished the sentence when Scott and Hope suddenly came dancing by, drawing his attention away from Bucky. Sam stepped forward and gave Scott a light slap on the shoulder, and when Scott whipped his head around to see who had interrupted him, Sam shoved the now-headless waffle in his face. 

“This your doin’, Tic-Tac?” he demanded.  Scott blinked, then saw the tray with the remaining waffles and seemed to get the picture. 

“Wait, hold up,” he stammered, backing away a little. “I just suggested a few ideas; I didn’t mean for them to come out looking like—” He cut himself off as his gaze flitted around the group from one half-eaten, misshapen waffle to another, until finally landing on the suggestive outline of Thor’s pastry.

“Asgardian cock?” Tony supplied helpfully.

“Those were  _ definitely _ not my idea,” Bucky defended himself with a snort. 

“Uh-huh,” Hope commented, turning towards Scott with a less-than-convinced expression. “Knowing you guys, I bet it was more like adolescent high art.”

“Hey,” Bucky objected. “I’ll have you know I actually went to art school.”

“You  _ dropped out _ of art school,” Steve reminded him with a fond jab to the ribs.

“I still learned things,” Bucky argued. “I mean with all the galleries you dragged me to? All the  _ museums? _ It’s a wonder people didn’t actually figure out we were dating with how often we were there.”

“Oh, that reminds me!” Scott said, snapping his fingers. “Guess what? Luis asked Gabriella out.”

“Really?” Bucky asked with an impressed arch of his eyebrows.

Scott nodded enthusiastically. 

“Yeah! He’s taking her to a softball game. We’ll get the whole scoop later; I’m pretty sure Kurt’s got a wire on him,” he added as Hope began tugging him back towards the dance floor.

“Of course he does,” Sam said with a snort.

Scott just winked back, and as he allowed himself to get dragged away, Rhodes emerged out of the crowd to give Tony a friendly clap on the shoulder.

“Hey, Tony,” he said, “Pepper’s waving at you.” He pointed towards the bar, where indeed, Pepper caught Tony’s eye with a hand raised into the air. “I think she needs you to get over there and  _ not  _ shake hands with someone, or whatever it is you don’t do these days.”

Tony sighed, shoulders slumping. “Well, that’s my cue.” He nodded his head at each of them in turn. “Capsicle, Arm and Hammer, Birdman; it’s been a pleasure. Catch you later.” He took a few steps forward, trailing after Rhodes, then turned back briefly to snatch the tray of waffles out of Bucky’s unsuspecting grasp before continuing on his way.

“Friends,” Thor announced, “I believe my presence is being requested.” He nodded towards the other side of the room by the couches, where Nat and Bruce, alongside an old war veteran, were beckoning him over. As Thor made his way over, Bucky recognized the man as having been part of a  group he and Sam had briefly spoken to earlier in the evening. The guy had asked them whether they knew if ‘the tall fellow with the braids’ would be coming or not – something about wanting to discuss some drink Thor had given him at another party a few years back. Bucky had a very strong suspicion what that drink might have been, given the way the old man was now lighting up at Thor’s approach, and he snorted out a laugh under his breath while biting into his waffle.

“ I still can’t believe you made dick-shaped waffles for your boyfriend’s birthday,” Sam said.

Bucky rolled his eyes to the ceiling with an exasperated sigh.

“I already told you, that wasn’t me. My fella’s far too high class for that kind of thing. Right, baby?” he added with a nudge at Steve’s shoulder.

“Oh, no,” Sam objected. “This is  _ me _ you’re talking to; I know you better than that. And there ain’t nothin’ high class about those waffles, man.”

Bucky pursed his lips but Steve just leaned in and gave his grumpy face a reassuring kiss on the cheek. “If you made them, I love them,” he announced fondly. “No matter what shape they are.”

“Don’t try to make it sound as if I made them for  _ your  _ sake, you big mook,” Bucky said with a grin. “We both know I made them just to annoy Sam.”

Sam rolled his eyes when Steve began to laugh, Bucky joining in, then firmly shook his head while giving them both equally disappointed looks. “God, this is the exact reason I had to get away from Banner and Widow. I didn’t realize this was a high school-themed birthday party.”

“Sorry, Sam,” Steve offered, still smiling as he clasped a hand over his friend’s shoulder. “Listen, I’m gonna go get another beer. You want anything?”

“Seeing as you’re asking me so nicely, yeah, I’ll take one.”

Steve turned, eyebrows raised at Bucky in silent question, but Bucky just shrugged.  “You know I just want you, dollface.”

“Oh, kill me now…” Sam muttered under his breath, but Steve and Bucky ignored him,  Steve giving Bucky another kiss on the cheek before walking off to get them their drinks. Bucky watched him go, then turned to Sam with a squint and a smirk.

“What’s the matter with you?” he asked curiously. “I thought you’d be great at dealing with this kinda thing.”

“If by ‘this kinda thing’ you mean watching the two of you make heart-eyes at each other every fifteen seconds, then no, I’m not.”

“It’s called being in touch with your feelings,” Bucky pointed out soberly. “I thought it was something therapists like you liked to encourage.”

“Is that why you sent Vision to ask me about you and Captain Loverboy?” Sam asked dryly.

Bucky shrugged. “Well… that  _ and _ the fact that I was just about ready to crawl under the rug and  _ die  _ from embarrassment,” he confessed. “No joke, you should have heard the conversation we had before we even touched on the topic of Steve and me. So, yeah, I might have strategically steered them over your way.”

“Uh-huh,” Sam commented, “and that wasn’t  _ at all _ mortifying for me in any way.”

“Sam,” Bucky raised his eyes towards the ceiling, “there was  _ no  _ way in hell I could have carried on for longer than I did. I'd already told him about the ‘birds and the bees’; I wasn’t gonna get myself stuck in a discussion regarding the “birds and the…” he paused, searching for the right word. “…balls?”

“It’s called ‘relationship education’ now, Grandpa,” Sam informed him with an amused quirk of his mouth. “Using euphemisms from the animal kingdom is a bit passé.”

“‘Birds and the balls’ sounds better than  _ relationship education, _ ” Bucky said with a snort. “It’s  _ sex _ , Sam. The  _ relationship _ bit they’ve pretty much got the hang of already.”

“Well, I’ve got news for you: relationships are  _ part _ of sex, and vice versa.”

“Yeah, we pretty much covered all that too,” Bucky admitted, rubbing at the back of his neck with his metal hand. “Relationships, birds, bees, but not the… um… balls, so to speak. So did you set them straight? Because I don’t want Vision to show up in his birthday suit outside my door later, asking me for constructive criticism.”

“Man, seriously, what the hell?” Sam complained. “There wasn’t anything  _ straight _ about the stuff they were asking! But you still thought it was a good idea to leave me – a straight guy – to talk about gay sex. I didn’t know what the hell I was saying more than half the time…” 

“Don’t be so modest,” Bucky said reassuringly. “You’re an educated man. I’m sure you did great.”

“Dude, they wanted me to talk about  _ your _ sex life,” Sam said, holding his hand up before Bucky could even open his mouth. “ _ Which _ , I don’t want to know anything about, remember?” He brought the raised hand to his face and rubbed it across his eyes. “I had to… improvise most answers. I just assumed you guys are into all the, you know… usual stuff.”

At that, a mischievous grin slowly spread over Bucky’s lips. Sam’s eyes immediately widened. “Nope!” he declared, and as Bucky opened his mouth as if to speak, Sam promptly covered his ears with his hands with a demonstrative yell of “Lalalalalala I can't hear you!”

“Would you knock it off?” Bucky said, still grinning and taking a step forward to tug Sam’s arms back down. “Seriously, I thought you’d be great with all that counseling stuff. You always seem to know how to talk about literally anything. Being a modern guy and all.”

“A modern,  _ straight  _ guy,” Sam pointed out. “I don’t know jack about this stuff. I had to make it all up from some stuffI’ve accidentally clicked online – shit probably scarred me for life – and what I see of you and Cap canoodling on the sofa. Which is already way too much PDA for me.”

“PDA?” Bucky asked, confused.

“Public display of affection.” 

Bucky’s puzzled frown turned offended. “What, because we’re two men?”

“No,” Sam objected, eyes widening with shock at the accusation in Bucky’s voice. “Hell no, man. I’m not bothered by  _ that  _ at all.”

“Then what is it?”

“It’s just— It’s all so…  _ lovey-dovey. _ ” Sam explained with a grimace. “Then again… I guess you guys didn’t get to go through the  _ honeymoon phase _ of your relationship very publicly back in the day, did you?”

“Not really,” Bucky confessed, looking down at the now-empty waffle-stick in his hand. “We had to keep everything quiet. And you know how Steve doesn’t  _ do _ quiet.”

“Do I wanna hear this?” Sam said, hands already moving to his ears.

Bucky snorted at him. “I don’t mean quiet like that,” he said. “Or, well, yeah, I do,” he admitted, “but you know how Steve is all for fighting the good fight while not keeping quiet about injustice and all that?”

“Oh yeah, I know.”

There was a pause and then Bucky, still staring down at the wooden skewer he was twirling between his thumb and index finger, sighed heavily. For a moment, his shoulders slumped, and from the corner of his eye he caught the sight of Sam looking guilty.

“Listen, I—” Sam licked his lips. “I suppose I can put up with a little public canoodling. I mean, you guys start taking your clothes off and I’m outta there, but… You know what I mean.”

“Yeah,” Bucky replied. His lips curled into a quick, soft smile. “I know what you mean.”

Sam actually looked away at that. Then he turned back around to stab his index finger against Bucky’s chest, adding, “But you try to pimp me out as a sex counselor again, and I’ll kick you right in the  _ relationships _ , are we clear?”

Bucky opened his mouth, ready to throw some well-chosen retort back at Sam’s face, but just then Steve returned and interrupted him by handing Sam a bottle of beer.

“What’s with the grim look?” he asked Sam. “Not cold enough for you?”

“Nah, it’s great. Unlike your partner in crime over he—” Sam cut himself off, staring over the width of Steve’s left shoulder. 

Bucky caught the look and followed it across the room to where Maria Hill had just walked through the door, looking absolutely stunning in a midnight blue dress. Slowly, the corner of his lip curled up into a smirk.

“Oh, look,” he said casually, “Maria’s here.”

As if someone had given him a slap to the face, and without a word, Sam straightened up, blinked a few times, and then hastily left them.  He made it to the farthest corner of the room just as Maria spotted Bucky and Steve , and began to wander over.

“Hello, fellas,” she greeted, smiling at them both. 

“Hello, Maria,” Steve replied fondly.

Maria tapped the edge of her champagne glass against the neck of his beer bottle. “Happy birthday, Captain,” she said. “Enjoying your party so far?”

“I am.” 

“You just missed Sam,” Bucky said. He tried not to smile as Maria immediately turned her head to nonchalantly look over her shoulder.

“I haven’t seen him yet,” she admitted, with what sounded like a hint of disappointment. 

“I think he went to find something to mop up all the drool with,” Bucky commented slyly.

“What? Why?” 

“I think he liked your dress,” Bucky replied. "You look like a million bucks, by the way.”

“Thank you,” Maria said graciously. “It’s new.”

“He wasn’t drooling,” Steve interjected, obviously intent to save his friend’s pride before Bucky managed to completely destroy it. Maria raised a curious brow at him, and he quickly added, “He  _ did  _ look… interested, however, I admit.”

“He was  _ drooling, _ ” he insisted. “Trust me, I know what drooling looks like.”

For a brief moment the smile seemed to drop off Maria’s face, and Bucky knew in what way she most likely had interpreted his comment. Hydra hadn’t exactly treated their assets with dignity, and Bucky suspected that Maria had already read most of his file even before Steve went out looking for him. 

“Relax,” he said, pointing his thumb at Steve, “I’m talking about this guy.” 

“That’s actually worse than what I was thinking,” Maria admitted, visibly relieved yet not showing any signs of embarrassment over having been caught out.

“What?” Steve objected. “I don’t drool!”

“Steve, sweetheart,” Bucky said lovingly, “one of these days, I’m going to snap a picture of you sleeping, and you’re going to pay me  _ big  _ bucks just to make me keep it to myself.”

This time, Maria had to hide to her smile behind her hand when all Steve could produce was an indignant splutter.

“You guys are so adorable,” she said.

“It  _ is _ kinda adorable, actually,” Bucky agreed. “Like watching a puppy chasing things in its sleep.”

Making a point of ignoring Steve’s glower, Bucky saw Sam ambling back towards them. 

He couldn’t be sure with the subdued lighting, but it looked as though Sam’s shirt had been straightened a bit. There was a button by his collar which had somehow come rakishly undone during his absence, and as Sam came up to stand next to him, Bucky took a subtle sniff of the air, employing his super-soldier senses. Yup, Sam had  _ definitely  _ spritzed himself with something that, even in Bucky’s opinion, smelled rather nice, and which undercut the man’s previous odor of beer and waffles. 

Sam rubbed his hands together and gave the group his widest, most engaging smile. “Did I miss something?”

Maria leaned into him conspiratorially. “Just Barnes and Cap talking about taking photos in bed,” she said in a hushed, obviously fake effort at being discreet.

Any composure Sam might have regained from tidying himself up promptly disappeared.  _ “What?” _ he squawked, eyes wide in what Bucky could only assume was pure and utter horror from the mental images inside the poor man’s head.

Maria lost it, her laughter shortly followed by Steve's, whose snickers made Bucky’s chest swell in the best of ways. Sam gave the two of them a glare, then turned on Bucky. Bucky just smirked back, and Sam sighed heavily.

“Okay,” he announced, “I officially hate all of you.”

“No, you don’t,” Maria said between giggles. She gave his shoulder a light shove, which seemed to bring the smile back to Sam’s face once more. Really, it was so glaringly obvious, Bucky thought. Just then a flash of a movement to his left caught his attention. At the buffet table that had been set up along the large panoramic window of the room, a familiar, lanky silhouette had just made an appearance next to Natasha and Bruce. 

Nat smiled as Peter Parker enthusiastically began to demonstrate what Bucky recognized as a correct fighting stance, followed up by a swooping gesture of a fist that made the brimming plate of food balanced in the young man’s other hand wobble precariously.

Even from this distance, Bucky could see that the kid had improved greatly since their first sparring lesson together. Though Parker still left himself wide open after having landed a successful punch. 

They’d have to work on that part, obviously. Maybe next time, they could focus the entire lesson on guarding? Teach the guy the importance of it all. The lower hand guard could really benef—  

He cut off his train of thought, and smiled to himself.  _ Listen to me go. Less than seven training sessions with the kid and here I am, already planning the next one. Like a proper coach or some shit. _

It felt good, though, to teach someone again, right from the basics. The Avengers’ gym was extremely high-tech compared to good old Goldie’s gym back in Brooklyn, of course, but once he got in the ring, that didn’t really matter. In the ring it was always the same, no matter where it was located; Bucky had felt more like himself, being there, giving instructions, than he had in ages. Like he was back in Brooklyn with Steve again; before the war, before Hydra, before any of that crap. It was rejuvenating in a way that Bucky couldn’t put into words. 

Thinking about it, he realized he didn’t need to be able to.

“He’s showing progress, isn’t he?” Bucky heard Steve comment, and shook himself out of his own head to give his partner a quick smile.

“He is,” he agreed. 

Steve looked over at Peter just in time to see the young man nearly drop his entire plate while miming an upper-cut. “He leaves himself open after the punches, though,” he added. 

Bucky snorted. “So did you, remember?”

“I did,” Steve said. He sent Bucky a bittersweet smile. “And from what I recall, you cured me of it the hard way.”

“I did,” Bucky echoed. 

Glancing behind them, Bucky saw that Maria was on her phone and that Sam was doing his best to look like he wasn’t trying to sneak stealthy looks at her while she was talking. Pleased, Bucky turned back to Steve. “Hey,” he said, “maybe you could stop by the gym next time Parker comes over? Co-coach him with me.”

Steve gave an embarrassed chuckle. “I’m not a teacher, Buck.” 

“No, but you were a good student,” Bucky countered. “And Parker looks up to you. I have a feeling he’ll be able to take it all in a bit better if the information comes from you, first hand.”

Steve mulled the thought over. “So you think Parker would be okay with me joining you, then?”

“More than okay,” Bucky assured him. “The kid’s been yapping about going one-on-one with you in the boxing ring since we first started.”

“No wonder,” Sam broke in. “Especially since you told him he might even be better than the famed Captain America himself.”

Steve looked at Bucky, and his eyebrows arched in amusement. “You told him that?”

“He did,” Sam confirmed, wincing as he got a jab on the upper arm from Bucky’s metal fist.

“Did  _ not, _ ” Bucky said heatedly. “I just said he was better than Steve  _ at that age _ . Which he  _ is, _ ” he ended with a defiant look at Steve.

Steve shrugged. “Fair enough.” He looked over at Peter again, just as the young man finished flailing, to Nat’s and Bruce’s combined relief. “But he’ll have a rough time if he thinks he’ll stand a chance with the Steve here and now.”

“Is this about that Brooklyn-Queens rivalry you mentioned?” Bucky said.

“Maybe,” Steve said evasively. 

“If you three break the gym, Tony’s gonna throw a fit.” Sam pointed a warning finger at them both. 

“It’s all in good fun,” Bucky scoffed. “We’ll just be helping the guy out, is all.”

“Speaking of help, you’ve been busy, haven’t you?” Maria said with an impressed look at Bucky as she tucked her cell phone back into her purse. “I feel like you’ve been helping people out all over the place.”

“I’ve tried to,” Bucky replied humbly.

“I’d say you’ve succeeded,” Maria countered.

“Yeah, you’ve been running your little super-soldier ass off, haven’t you?” Sam teased, “Which is to say a whole lotta runnin’.”

“Guess that means he’s too tired to dance, then.” Maria turned to Steve and tucked her hands around his elbow. “Perhaps the birthday boy would allow me the honors instead?”

Steve gave her a dazzling smile. “Of course.”

“Be careful not to let him step on your toes!” Bucky called after them as Maria led Steve towards the dance floor.  Steve immediately looked down to see how close he was to actually doing so, and Bucky laughed.

“Does he really step on toes that much?” Sam asked quietly.

Bucky sighed, shaking his head fondly. “Only when he’s nervous. The trick is to get him to think about something other than the dance, and he’s just fine.”

“So basically, you just set him up for failure?” Sam concluded.  Bucky smiled and said nothing. 

They stood like that, quietly side by side, for almost a full minute before Sam finally opened his mouth. Bucky already knew that it was coming, of course he did. 

“So,” Sam said slowly. “How’s the whole…  _ positive life experiences  _ project coming along for you?”

Bucky took a long, deep breath, and then exhaled again just as slowly while mulling the question over. “Better than expected,” he said eventually. “People have been very… accommodating.”

“Interesting choice of words,” Sam said, much too knowingly. “You sure ‘accommodating’ is the best way to describe what people have been to you?”

Bucky bit back a low groan, but when he saw the way Sam was looking at him, his posture slumped. “All right, okay,” he admitted. “People have been…” The word stuck in his throat, but somehow he still managed to get it out without choking on it. “…friendly.”

“Mh-hmm,” Sam commented. “And you know why, right?”

“Because they don’t want Steve to shove his shield down their throats?”

“Because they’re your  _ friends _ , you idiot,” Sam corrected. “Friends are friendly. Friends help each other out when they need it. And in case you haven’t figured it out yet, that’s what you’ve spent the past weeks doing.”

“I’ve followed instructions,” Bucky argued, already feeling heat rise on his neck from the way Sam was looking at him. “My therapist said—”

“Oh, cut the crap.” Sam slapped Bucky’s shoulder, hissing when the metal plating underneath the shirt gave the impact a little more sting than he’d anticipated. “You’ve had  _ fun, _ haven’t you? You’ve helped people because you liked the way it made you feel – how it made  _ them  _ feel. Isn't that right?”

“I guess,” Bucky admitted. “I mean, it’s… not what I had expected it to be like. As in, at all.”

“What had you expected then?”

“I don’t know.” Bucky lowered his head, scuffing his shoe against the floor. “That people wouldn’t want me around at all? That they’d treat me like a potential threat?”

“I see,” Sam murmured. “But that’s not what happened, is it?”

“No,” Bucky said, chuckling a little. “Not really. I mean, Barton just upped and handed me his damn kids, first thing. Like I was just one of you guys.” He looked at his friend. “ _ Kids, _ Sam. As in plural!”

“Guess that must mean he trusts you, huh?”

“Yeah,” Bucky said. “I guess it does.” He looked out over the people filling the room. Nat, Bruce, and Parker were seated on the couches, eating and conversing happily. Over by the bar, Tony and Rhodes had joined Thor and his veteran friend in what appeared to be a tequila slam race, and Scott was still with Hope, next to Steve and Maria on the dance floor. 

“You know,” Bucky said slowly, “when I first started therapy, I thought the only way to get better would be if I somehow managed to put everything that happened – the war, Hydra, Siberia – behind me completely. There were days when I wished I could have gone back to that damn chair and just wiped my head clean all over again. Start fresh, you know?”

“But?” Sam prodded softly.

“But," he went on slowly, "these past weeks, I’ve realized that recovery isn’t about forgetting at all. It’s about taking what you’ve been through, the things and skills you’ve learned, and molding them into the best version of you that you can be.” He looked down at his hand, silver fingers gleaming in the dim light. “With you guys around… I feel like I’ve finally figured out a way to do that.” He sighed, shaking his head. “Does that even make sense?”

“It makes a lot of sense,” Sam said. His voice was soft, warm, and Bucky cleared his throat again as he straightened up.

He opened his mouth to say something, perhaps ‘thank you’ or similar, but before he could speak Maria returned from the dance floor with Steve in tow, beaming like the sun itself.

So he settled forgiving Sam a long, firm look and a squeeze of his shoulder, before turning back to the smiling pair with a curious, “Toes intact?”

“All ten present and accounted for,” Maria replied. She patted Steve’s shoulder. “Your boy did good. He only said two bad words when he forgot the steps.”

"What steps?” Steve chuckled. “Today's dancing is just holding hands and swaying a lot."

“Oh, listen to you,” Bucky mocked. “Such an expert all of a sudden.”

“Yeah, sounds like a lotta hot air to me,” Sam agreed. 

Steve let out an offended huff, but before he could retort Maria had grabbed Sam’s arm, laughing. “Well, c’mon then, flyboy,” she said. “Time to put your money where your mouth is.”

“Gladly,” Sam said confidently, allowing Maria to lead him away.

_ Like a puppy on a leash,  _ Bucky thought to himself. “My  work here appears to be done,” he said.

Steve gave him an amused quirk of his eyebrow. “Your work?” he asked.

“Oh, sweetie,” Bucky groaned. “Even your friend Matt sees stuff like this better than you, and he’s  _ blind. _ Those two have been sweet on each other for ages.”

Steve blinked, sending a wide-eyed look after the disappearing duo. “Really?”

“Yes, really,” Bucky repeated. He looked at Steve, following the strong lines of his back and shoulders, up to his face. He followed the familiar profile until his eyes landed on the soft curve of the lower lip, and just like that, Bucky felt warmer and happier than he had in ages. “Now come on,” he said softly. “How about I give my best guy a chance to test out the steel toes on these shoes of mine?”

“Buck,” Steve complained, “believe it or not, I  _ have _ learned to dance a little over the years.”

Bucky smiled as he affectionately wrapped his left arm around Steve’s waist and leaned in to give his fella a quick peck on the lips.

“I’ll believe  _ that  _ when I see it, sugar.”

^^^^^^^^^^

The End


End file.
